Yesterday, I took my first short walk outdoors since my surgery. It was eye-opening.

Puttering around the house in my PJ’s is one thing, but getting outside and trying to walk in a full stride like a normal person isn’t so easy to do so soon after surgery. Like Lindy promised, I am walking around slowly, gingerly holding my incision site (the nurses called it “splinting”), and taking small half-steps like an 80-year-old obaachan. Understandably, my body feels markedly weaker than pre-surgery, and for some reason, it doesn’t frustrate me.

Being a type A personality, I thought that having to move at the speed of government (oops!) would drive me up the wall. Honestly, it’s nice to slow things down, even at the expense of comfort. Of course, I don’t want to have an operation every time I need some downtime — but, sadly, sometimes it’s the only way to stop the endless rat race that can easily turn into the daily grind. Even vacations are often not very restful. But, when you’re laid up with nothing to do but heal — now that’s relaxation. Relaxing is something that I don’t do enough of and certainly may pay the price for down the road if I’m not careful. Sure, the pain is always a constant reminder of my procedure, my mobility is severely hindered, and I am pretty much sequestered in my house, but I am still taking it all with an equanimity that surprises even me.

To say that I am relishing every moment of my time off would be the understatement of the year.

But, on the flip side, there’s always the pain to contend with. They say “laughter is the best medicine,” but not so in my case. On several occasions this week, Hubby has caused me to laugh myself to tears. Despite my most vigorous efforts to hold back the giggles, I simply couldn’t, then immediately felt the searing pain in my abdomen, followed by tears streaming down my cheeks as I try in vain to stop laughing. Once the laughter subsides, I worry that I’ve ripped open my incision and promptly make Hubby check. So far, so good.

Oh, and coughing is almost as bad. I haven’t experienced the misfortune of a sneeze yet, but I would imagine that would probably be the worst. Gagging on my toothbrush while diligently brushing my tongue was a bad idea, too.

I wonder if readers will grow bored of my endless ramble about my current health status and mundane observations. Right now, I suppose there is little else that concerns me. For now, I am concentrating on restoring not only my body, but also my mind and soul.

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